That Was Enough for Her
by krispielee
Summary: As much as Stoick loved his son, Hiccup and his mother always had a special connection. *ONE SHOT*


**Disclaimer: I don't own nothin**

 **I did a thing.**

* * *

It didn't seem to matter to them how much effort Valka put into it. She loved babies and their cute faces and their small hands and their soft skin. She loved the feeling of them in her arms, the smell of them after they were just recently washed. She loved watching young mothers balancing a baby on one hip and a basket on the other as they went shopping in the square.

She so desperately wanted to have one herself.

She had always wanted to be a mother.

She always wanted a daughter to dress up and teach to wield a sword. Spoke of it at length with her husband during their late nights eating dinner together by the warm glow of their fire.

Her complete and utter incompetence in the area always left Stoick with a hearty laugh. After watching her vain attempts to get on the good side of the smallest vikings on the island (which will almost always leave them crying), his large beard would rub against her side as the bellowing laughter shook his colossal frame. The joyous sounds erupting from deep in his belly would echo around her ears causing her shoulders to drop before she would finally turn on him sharply.

At her silent glare, the area around his eyes would crinkle and he would smile softly at her. It was an innocent reaction, but one that so many others had joined in on.

Valka just wanted it _so badly_.

"Not to worry, Val," He would tell her later. "Babes like them change their mind about everything. It's only a run of bad luck."

At her sigh he only furthered the honey by giving her a sweet kiss on the lips, easily pushing the stress from her mind if only for a moment. It was easy for him to not worry, she would think. He had been the chief for years. He had much experience in just about everything.

Life as chief made him so very busy, but even then he found time to play a game of chase with some younger members of their tribe. He would let out a playful roar, bend over like a bull and run them down as they shrieked in glee. He would laugh a booming laugh when he caught them, snatching them up in his muscular arms and resting them on his shoulders as though they weighed nothing.

It was decidedly less cute when Valka tried to reenact the scene herself.

She would try to befriend a new mother if only so she could try to learn herself. She wanted children, and she didn't want her children to hate her. The young woman needed all the help she could get, right? Copying their mother, the way she held them to her chest. Shushing the baby in the same tone when they inevitably began crying.

To no avail.

It didn't seem to matter when she made no progress.

She was the same as ever when she finally became expectant herself.

She was nervous. She was excited.

She was stressed.

Her fingers turned red and raw from all the sewing and knitting she did. Creating clothing for her new baby, sewing up a blanket of the Haddock family seal. The cushioned dragon toy she crafted from the softest fabrics she could find. She spent all of her free time preparing for her baby.

Stoick still thought it amusing, coming home from a long day of chiefing to her rocking in her chair, all of her attention focused on her new crafts.

Her husband prepared in his own way, telling everyone and anyone who would listen that he and his wife were expecting a baby. He held none of the worries she did. Proud of his unborn son or daughter. He was a natural, and things came so easily to him.

How their roles reversed a most unexpected way. . .

Valka's first minutes as a mother, holding her screaming, naked son in her arms, were decidedly calmer than she had expected being. She naturally cradled him against her chest, warming him, wrapping him in all the things she had embedded her love and time into preparing. His fingers turned to tiny fists, so much smaller than they should be, but holding onto her nonetheless.

Her husband sat by her side for hours. The couple just watching him, their son, as he ever so slowly grew accustomed to the world.

At first, the moment he'd stopped crying had frozen Valka's stomach like a rock. He was early. He was small. He might not survive. He might die right there in her arms, clearly the silence could only mean one thing. No other baby had been so calm wrapped up against her chest. Why would he be so different?

But she focused closely on his rising and falling chest.

He was breathing.

His skin was soft.

His blood was circulating.

His heart beating.

When it came time for her to rest, when she could finally be convinced to fall asleep after such a hard day, she gently handed him over to his father. The sudden shrill and cry that erupted drew the attention of everyone in the room.

What a surprise that such a loud noise could come from such a tiny creature.

Stoick was not one to be deterred, only rearranging his hold on his son and humming quietly to calm him down once more.

It did not work.

He spent several minutes, trying to calm their newborn son so Valka could finally rest. So they both could finally rest. Stoick shushed and hummed and gently swayed with his son in his arms.

To no avail.

"Hand him back," Valka eventually murmured, barely heard over the cries.

Valka's eyes drifted close for a moment as her son was returned to her arms. She held him close, fingers brushing against his skin in a smooth motion. She breathed in his scent.

He quieted almost instantly.

She nearly forgot she needed to be resting again, content with just sitting and watching as he snuggled against her. His tiny hands grasped tightly at anything within reach, and sleep returned to him at once.

The exhaustion was still there, but Valka barely felt it now, staring at her son's relaxed face.

"You need to rest, Val," Stoick's normally booming voice was soft as he knelt by her side.

"I can stay awake," She replied. Her eyes couldn't break away from him. "He might not be here when I wake. I want to be here if he goes."

It was a threat that hanged over their heads. It had been on her mind since the moment she felt the first pangs of contractions. He was too early. It was too cold outside. His chances were slim.

She was prepared for the worst. She knew she could get through it. Stay awake. For him.

Her husband shifted beside her, one massive finger lifting the blanket their son had gripped so tight.

"Look at him here," He told her, the amazement in his voice was clear. "Fists like that, he will make a great chief one day. He'll be the strongest of them all, enough to carry the whole of Berk on his shoulders."

Valka smiled at the thought. Her son growing up to be chief and leading their tribe.

Her eyes broke away from her son for a moment to turn to her husband, leaning in close to rest her head on his shoulder and feeling the familiar roughness of his beard.

She said nothing back, content with the vision he had placed in her mind.

It didn't matter to Valka if no other baby ever could rest in her arms. If they all squirmed when she held them, cried and screamed and threw tantrums when she cradled them close to her chest. Her son was here, resting on her heart. He felt warm and safe with her.

She had her son, and that was enough for her.


End file.
